The Renaissance Era

Frowning, Ethan examined Brit's hand. His thumb rubbed over the raised bump over and over again. It was the size of a pinhead. There was an obvious build up of skin beneath the surface. Bending, he observed it closer and felt his jaw set. "It doesn't hurt," lisped Brit. He acknowledged her words with a nod and reached for his dagger. With a steady hand, he shaved the offending blemish off and tossed the dead skin into the fire.

"A callous is unacceptable, Brit." Reaching for lotion, he rubbed it onto the fresh skin. "I do not wish for my wife to work so. There are others who can push mops." Brit protested that there was much to be done to prepare. Again, he acknowledged her, but his mind was made up. He did not wish for her to have work-hardened hands. "Work shall have to wait for tonight. We have an appointment."

The pair went to the bar where Ethan left her by the door to talk to a lady near the bar. After a few moments, the lady finished her drink and followed Ethan. They went down the street to where the beauty shop stood. Although in disarray, one station had obviously been somewhat maintained. Sliding Brit into the chair, both Ethan and the beautician discussed how to do her hair.

"That is not how it use to be, Ethan," said the beautician. "It was more poofed toward the front as it coming forward."

"Nonsense," said Ethan. "I remember it well." Both adjusted, teased and pulled Brit's hair. Ethan snatched his hand away once and glared at the beautician as if she slapped his hand. "Mind yourself," he growled but sat on the chair next to Brit's and held his hand. Silently, Ethan watched nodding or shaking his head as the beautician pulled all of Brit's tresses up and coifed it perfectly. Pin after pin was pushed into her hair. "What are you using?" said Ethan.

The beautician said, "Hairpins."

"You could use threads to secure the style. I think that mayhaps it would last longer. And it would be more accurate."

"NON!" exclaimed the lady. "Do not be so bold as to question. Threads are fine for when no one took the hair down for months." Brit owed softly as she pulled the hair up and pushed in another pin. The beautician continued, "Some of those ladies...by the time they removed their hairstyles, the hair was so matted we must cut it off and they wear wigs!" She pulled up another piece and said, "And once, a very regal baroness had a family of mice living in her hair. Not what we want now, hmm?"

Ethan folded his arm looking most amused as the beautician said, "Hairpins have been around since the 13th century. And Mme DeFortne' lost her head...but her hair stayed intact due to my hairpins!"

Chuckling, Ethan said dryly, "Now that is a fine endorsement for the humble hairpin."

"Oui!" The beautician worked quietly as Brit continued to peek in a mirror to see what she was doing to her hair. Finally, the lady stepped back and exclaimed, "Voila!"

Before giving Brit a mirror, Ethan stood to look over the fine hairstyle. "Ah, but the memories it brings." The beautician nodded and seemed to be caught in a few of her own. "Days of grace before the common riffraff declared casual dress the rule rather than the exception." Another nod of agreement. "You will powder it now?"

"You are, of course, joking, Ethan," replied the beautician. One glance told her he was not. "But that fashion....it does not transcend time as well as some others might!" He blinked at her. "Do you not remember? Powder sometimes smelled so stale. We tried to sweeten it with jasmine water...anything." Seeing Ethan's expression, the beautician said, "Very well." She gave Brit a cone to cover her face with and powder flew everywhere.

When Brit uncovered her face, the room looked foggy with powder. Ethan brushed off his jacket and the beautician was waving the air around her wildly. Brit looked in the mirror at her grey-white hair. "I hate it," muttered Ethan grimly.

"NON! I tried to warn you! And...and..." Ethan shrugged and the lady exclaimed a series of words as she pulled out the pins and started again. Ethan chuckled and said, "You do not mean such words." She gave him an annoyed look, but her mood started to brighten as she worked Brit's hair after washing all of the powder from it. When she finished, it was obvious the beautician and Ethan were pleased with the finished product.

Once Brit's hair was perfectly coiffed, they returned to the resting place. Ethan talked with her about the Renaissance era. Pulling out her make-up case, he took his time dragging the color-soaked brushes over her skin. He never like the lead on faces, but smiled as her natural color had a porcelain quality to it. Once completed, he sat back to enjoy the image she created.

Ethan spoke with Brit about the culture, fashion, and popular things to do at the time. Looking through the costumed gowns in the basement of the old theatre, he selected a dress for her to wear.

Turning her, he smiled. She would have been right at home in those days of grace. Brit asked, "So. Now what do we do now dressed like this?"

Ethan grinned. "What do you do? Well, now. You look pretty. I will show you how to dance a dance that was quite popular in its day. You make nice conversation, BUT you do not mop." He took Brit’s hand and led her through the basics of the dance.

Sanguini's

Brit sat across the table from Ethan and watched as others milled about. As she had now seen several times, the room was packed with many kindred. Unlike other times, there were more humans present and many as guests of kindred. “Don’t stare,” came Ethan’s familiar admonishment at such gatherings. Brit smiled up at him. Her hair had been perfectly arranged and her Laval-original dress suited her figure. Noticing Ethan’s frown, Brit glanced down at the décolleté and puffed her cheeks slightly knowing that Ethan would once again fuss with his new seamstress over his views on what should be considered proper for women in public. The proprietor greeted Ethan warmly and assured him as he had done with other kindred that tonight’s chef was a great improvement on the previous chef. Ethan replied, “I’m relieved, of course.” With a glance at Brit, he said, “My wife enjoyed the last meal here as I am sure many others did. However, the concept of garlic night offended my senses for days.”

“As it did with many others,” said the jovial man. “I stake the reputation of Sanguini’s that no chef will make such a mistake again.” Ethan practically flinched at the restaurant’s name, and he wondered why some primogen had not yet killed the kindred for being so open as to the cliental of the restaurant. It would have been easy to do based on the restaurant’s placement up high on a cliff.

With another glance to Brit, Ethan reminded himself that it gave him an opportunity to have Brit interact beyond her small circle of friends. Additionally, she looked lovely. “Don’t stare, baby,” Ethan reminded her again as he handed her a menu.

Brit accepted the offering and sat it down. She smiled up at him and said, “I know what you will have.” He grinned touching her bite marks lightly and giving her stray tendril a gentle tug. Noticing her paleness, he announced that he would be having a goblet of Jesus Merlot. Her look of confusion went unanswered as he gave her the menu again. She held it this time, but did not open it.

“I wish to know what you want?” Ethan said with a gesture that she open the menu. Brit opened it and flipped through the pages that had no pictures. Ethan watched her remembering her demands. While it was true that something had affected her, Ethan wondered whether she had preferences in things such as food. Brit continued to flip though the menu and inquired about the availability of French fries. “Rather than a side item, I wish you to select something from each of the section. If done correctly, you will have a proper eight course meal.”

Brit puffed her cheeks and continued to turn the pages. “I don’t know what to get.” Ethan opened a menu and scanned the items quickly noting with pleasure that garlic was thankfully missing from the menu. He suggested she find something she thought she would like by perhaps finding an ingredient she liked. Brit went back to studying the menu. When the waiter came, she read over to each item slowly prior to ordering. Brit stammered, “For the first course.” She gaze to Ethan as she said it hesitantly, “I’ll have this.” She held up the menu so he could see. He gave no indication of whether he felt the choice of seared foie gras with cherry sauce on crackers made of cocoa nibs was a good choice.

The waiter scribbled impatiently. Brit looked at the second section and ordered, “This…” Her lips moved before she read, “Roasted pear salad with chocolate-scented goat cheese and dribbled with the vinaigrette of chocolate and roasted pears.” Ethan’s eyebrow arched at the sophistication of the salad and his second eyebrow joined when the soup of pureed chestnuts with a chocolate cream swirled in was ordered.

Tapping his pen with annoyance, the waiter sighed deeply as Brit read the next section. Ethan’s eyes flashed red for a moment as he said, “My good man, have you somewhere else to be?” The words of the waiter stopped at his lips after glancing to Ethan. A polite shake of his head, he waited for Brit to order the cocoa and orange-braised shrimp for her seafood course. The pasta dish was to be squash risotto with sage and chocolate oil followed by a strawberry sorbet with flicks of chocolate.

Ethan picked up the menu and opened it as he heard Brit order the rib of pork rubbed with cocoa and herbs and drizzled in hazelnut oil served with chocolate-black olive disks and a white chocolate crème of baby carrots. He touched his lips to suppress a grin at the expected order of a “Love Goddess Cake”, which contained several layers of chocolate cake buffered by chocolate ganache filling and frosted with whipped crème.

The waiter left and Brit beamed at him triumphantly having ordered from each section. “Brit. You have managed to have eight courses of chocolate.” Ethan stood holding his hand out to her to lead her to the dance floor. Pulling her close, Ethan guided her far more slowly than the music could play to let Brit follow him in a perfect tango.

“Was the dinner not correct?” she asked. Her body pressed lightly as she stepped outside of his step to turn and step facing him again. Her dress rustled as she moved and he inhaled the light scent of her body happily noting that all was garlic-free.

He grinned. “No, baby. I shall look forward to soft, sweet, chocolate kisses.” He pulled her close again as he turned her in the slow tango brushing his fangs on her throat.

“I thought…you had sweet kisses earlier,” she whispered.

“I did indeed…but…like you, I will have a love goddess dessert,” he teased. She danced close to him and he whispered, “You did not think I went to all that trouble on your make-up for merely dinner and dancing, did you?”

He enjoyed her bewildered look and guided her back to the table where the foie gras waited. And he enjoyed her look when she bit into it finding it more than cherries with chocolate.

Wants & Needs

Ethan kicked the door of their resting place open and deposited a marginally-sentient Brit carefully on the plush fur rug. His demeanor could be described in one word: Irritated. Every little thing about the evening added another thorn in his side. After checking Brit’s pulse, Ethan punctured his own wrist and poured vitae into her mouth forcing her to drink before he sat back to muse how one evening could go so wrong and still end up fine.

When they woke, Ethan had taken Brit for a romantic walk along the beach. He felt it was time she observed more behaviors in others outside of their small circle. When they arrived to the beach, they first encountered a couple who were playfully sparring with swords. Ethan wrapped his arms around Brit and smiled while they both watched. When the male “captured” the female, Ethan was sure that Brit would see playful romance as the girl negotiated for her release. Rather than angel-kissed promises, the girl dropped to her knees and greedily unzipped the man’s pants using other oral skills. Seeing the questions start to form silently on her lips, he refocused her on other people nearby.

Among the others, Pieter told him of news in the city. Blueray and Picket were also there and handed an invitation for both Brit and Ethan to attend their wedding. Weddings would be an ideal setting for Brit to observe others, Ethan mused, if the wedding couple were not demonic in nature. As the happy couple rambled, images of mutual defilements on the ceremonial alter graced his thoughts. At the mention of the wedding activities, Ethan had troubled thoughts at merely considering what ingredients would actually be in the wedding cake. As Brit bounced over the idea of the wedding, Ethan tried to remember a demonic ceremony where people did not either end up naked or sacrificed. He would discuss with Pieter later.

Brit had to take her bicycle to the garage to get the brakes checked. Promising to follow her there, Ethan watched her peddle off as he wrapped up his conversation. When he arrived, members of the garage’s motorcycle gang were typically hanging out. However, rather than hearing loud music, seeing impromptu fighting, and smelling the thick scent of alcohol, he witnessed one crying for her family, another looking for a lost puppy, and a many others acting what was unconventional for people who live on a wild edge. He saw Brit wheeling out a vintage 1950’s Harley-Davidson. A light blue creampuff of a bike that looked as if it was never ridden but had simply been worshipped and gently polished daily with a diaper.

The atmosphere grew more chaotic as more of the gang’s behaviors seemed bizarrely altered as was his usually compliant wife. Brit made it clear that the motorcycle was hers and that she wanted it. It mattered not that she did not know anything about motorcycles. Concerned he sat on the back of the motorcycle until he realized that she was looking for peddles like one would find on a bicycle. Leaving her to flip levers and honk the horn, he slid off to watch the growing confusion. Joah appeared and questioned Brit’s purpose with the bike. He had no answers but tried to explain what he knew. Without warning, the motorcycle engine roared and lurched forward. Brit tumbled off the back as it zoomed ahead crashing into the bricks and caused sparks to fly while it scraped and screamed down the sidewalk on its side depositing paint and parts for a block.

Ethan and Joah ensured Brit was fine before assessing the damage of the prized antique and oddity of the crowd. Brit returned to the garage to find another motorcycle. After all, she had been told by one of gang that she was welcome to any that she liked. Joah followed Brit back into the garage after Brit casually discarded the second bike on the sidewalk and had returned to get one that better matched her outfit. Ethan observed the pattern of his wife who seemed to crave immediate gratification over any desire. He returned to Brit and tried to coax her off of the bike. While talking to her, he felt Joah’s arms slide over him prior to wrapping around his waist. Joah’s words reflected her actions. In addition to Brit’s demands and Joah’s exploration, Deb arrived to lament the demise of her precious Harley that continued to lay in pieces along the road.

Tempers were escalating and Ethan checked his guns before telling Joah that he and Brit would love to rest with her in the library. Joah giggled girlishly and let him drag her as he walked toward the north part of town while carrying Brit who seemed to want anything and everything that caught her eye. Once they reached the library, Brit demanded kisses while Joah flopped on a pillow waiting for the offered three-way “rest.” Ethan struggled to juggle both women and was thankful when Grr arrived. Joah’s interest immediately diverted by telling Grr that Ethan did not live up to what was offered. Grr was gentlemanly enough to compensate which seemed to placate Joah.

Ethan finally had opportunity to observe Brit without distraction. He knew it was only a matter of time before some would seek him to discuss the motorcycle carnage left behind. Brit returned his focus. Kisses were demanded and, when not given immediately, Ethan could feel Brit become agitated when there was not instantaneous compliance. To keep her calm, he gave her the kisses that she demanded and was sure she would be content. Once one demand was sated, another took its place. Minutes passed and Ethan found himself pushed back on to one of the cushions in front of the library fire with Brit practically melted against him. The kisses grew longer and deeper limited only by her need for breath.

Surreal, he thought. Joah and Grr were making out on the cushion next to them. Others had entered the library. None of it mattered to Brit as she pressed harder to feed her wants, which escalated her desires and, which each increased desire, a new demand was issued. More kisses. Deeper kisses. Ethan was unsure how her focus would change. He heard Brit say, “I…I want a feather. I want a feather now.” Lorne had come to the library as others had produced a feather and offered it to Ethan. Ethan did not take time to consider his bias of conjured items and nodded his thanks as he gave Brit the feather. She started to drag it over her skin before dragging it over Ethan’s neck. “I want bites,” she demanded.

Ethan heard her words while realizing people had been watching. Surreal. The word came to him again. Joah and Grr were still making out. Brit told him again, “I want bites.” Her tone clearly indicated that she thought they should have already been delivered. Pulling Brit away slightly, Ethan encouraged her to move to a darker corner. Rather than her usual compliance, she grew more insistent. Others questioned the move, and Ethan felt his mood darken. “This,” he thought, “had to be what it felt like to have a drunk date at the prom.” Unwilling to put on a show for the masses, he pulled Brit in and sank his fangs hard into her throat. She purred as her demand was met.

Ethan drank deeply, unwilling to wait for her next demand. Time, he thought. He needed time. He could feel her energy level ebb as he took more than he usually did and kept tabs on her heartbeat as she crumpled against him. Paler while he now looked more human. His fingers trailed over her face knowing that he would share of himself later and she would be better by morning. Nerissa entered with a handful of burning herbs and Joah immediately started to become more her old self. Brit lay like a sack of flour in Ethan’s arms resting. Picking her up, he took her home. Once there, he ensured she drank of him and pulled her so that her head rested on his thigh.

He was irritated. His fingers caressed her hair and he thought of how he would have reacted to such a night a year ago. The couple on the beach might have gotten them killed for behaving so sleazy. In his younger years, a demonic gathering of any kind would have surely had his company. He glowered at the memory of Deb swearing toward Brit with cause, and found himself growing angry at Deb’s actions even as he rationalized it easily. Then there was Joah all but rubbing against him. Many had died for less. His fingers caressed Brit’s skin. Then there was his beloved who had behaved with a child’s demands and a woman’s desires. In that memory, Ethan grinned and found that, as much as he wanted to be, he was not irritated anymore. With a chuckle, he wondered whether the years were mellowing him.

Feeling the sunrise near, Ethan wedged the door to make sure Brit could not leave before he checked her over; and then he pulled her close falling dormant and realized that he was more exhausted than he had felt in years.

Moon of Desires

The night was very cold for it being the middle of summer. Brit stared up at the bright moon full in the sky as she snuggled against her beloved. “Beautiful,” she lisped. Ethan's arms wrapped around her and he placed the gentle kiss on the back of her head as she leaned back against him gazing up in pure wonderment at the huge moon hanging in the sky.

In ancient times, the August moon was sometimes thought as the Moon of Desires. Ethan hinted a grin as he too looked upon it remembering the pagan rituals designed to preserve what one had with this particular moon. Ethan naturally believed nothing of such rituals though he had said a most brief prayer earlier in the evening thanking God for his beloved. To seal the prayer, Ethan drank of Brit and had her drink of him to better ensure his prayer was kept.

To ensure a better view, Ethan had arranged for them to travel to where the city smog did not interfer with the sky. The salt water lapped at the side of the skiff and the kindred who steered kept silent letting the couple enjoy their star-gazing. Brit nuzzled against Ethan as they both looked up at the moon. “Has it changed much since…when you were like me. You know.” She whispered, “Human.”

Ethan was quiet and simply held Brit while he thought how to reply. “I think she is more beautiful now.” When he was human, he was much too busy fighting for God’s causes to really take the time to appreciate the moon and all of her changes. He, of course, knew that the moon had changed very little, but he found the world more beautiful reflected through love’s eyes. His fingers trailed down Brit’s shoulder and he stroked her arm. “She is more beautiful today,” he said more affirmatively.

Brit asked, “She?” Her eyes looked from him to the moon again. “How…how can the moon be a ‘she’?”

Ethan grinned tapping her nose. “Let’s compare the sun and moon, hm?” He pointed up at the moon. “The moon is reflective, meditative, and calm. And the sun? He is brilliant, restless. Hot.” Brit looked to the reflection in the water that mirrored the brightness in the sky. Ethan kissed her hair until she nodded that she understood before he continued, “And the moon changes shape…shifts from darkness to light, while the sun is constant and intense.”

Brit processed more. “Do I change shapes and change from darkness to light?”

His smile faded slightly though she could not see knowing it meant changes caused by time, pregnancy, and women’s hormonal tendencies through the month. All which would not change as long as he gave her his vitae. He waved it off slightly and said, “You are stronger…and faster. And you are my darkness and light. The only thing who can change me so.” She giggled in response. And he said “The moon is feminine and the sun is masculine. The moon is receptive. It receives the force of light from the sun. And the moon is mysterious whereas the sun projects all that it is.”

Giggling, she lisped, “I’m not mysterious, Ethan. I am just me.” Her giggles grew quiet as she watched the huge, round moon bask them both in pale light that turned the world blue. “I’m ordinary,” she said in a way showing she was quite at peace with this concept.

He chuckled and reflected on her growth, and her recent changes that both perplexed and amused him. He whispered against her ear, “You are far from ordinary.” Ethan thought of his earlier teachings and continued to caress her. Her fingers drew circles on his hands, and he remembered that circles and spirals have always been associated with the moon. He thought his beloved to be quite a mystery. “You are mysterious and mine.”

Ethan could not explain to her beyond that as he was absorbed with his own thoughts and moon-gazing. She fell quiet enjoying the soft sounds of the sea and cuddling back with him feeling him absorb and return her own body heat. With a grin, he whispered, “You are not my moon and I am not your sun though, Brit.”

She quirked, “Oh. Um…Why?”

His grin deepened, “Because, they never touch and when they meet, one blocks out the other.” He traced her lips with his finger as she processed his words. Then he said, “You are my sun in that you are what had been missing from my life. Radiant with innocence. Purity and true feelings.”

Brit blinked. “But not like a boy, right?”

Ethan laughed causing the men on the skiff to exchange glances of surprise. “Most definitely NOT like a boy. Mysterious. Like the moon. See?”

Brit looked up at the moon and nodded understanding. “Yah.” Then she cuddled back against him again.

Reasons To Dance

Hearing the music, Ethan slowed nearing their resting place. The closed door muffled the sounds of the music within causing it to sound almost tinny. He could also hear the elevated heart rate of his wife dancing in time to the music. With a hint of a smile, he entered causing her to pivot to face him. He liked that she always came to greet him, and he placed his usual triad of kisses on her face as she continued to breathlessly sway in time to the music. Sitting on the plush fur rug that covered the corner of the room, Ethan motioned for her to continue and kicked back to watch her bounce about the room.

Rather than her usual unfocused bouncing, Brit circled the room walking in time with the music. Her eyes never left his and she started to dance again while wondering why he did not ask her to dance. Her dark, sooty lashes framed her mossy green eyes and she held his gaze while starting to sway. Ethan watched. He noticed her hair moving in a sine-wave rather than bouncing against her back. Her fingers and toes were gracefully positioned and her body moved fluidly. “Has Larissa been dancing with you of late,” he asked. Brit shook her head and told him that she had not danced with Larissa since before Abby was born.

His thoughts returned to when he saw her dancing slowly in the shower. Tonight, her dancing was not so slow, but it maintained a level of sensuality that caught him by surprise. Brit swayed and ran her hands through her hair brushing it back just moments before turning to look at him again from over her shoulder. She held this position and moved her hips before bringing her arms up the wall. She pressed against the wall and repeated the motion before pushing away to turn and lean against it with her back. Ethan’s finger pressed against his lips silently watching her. Brit peeled herself away from the wall and shuffled left and right across the room. Tilting his head, he changed the word “shuffled” to “strutted.” He observed her with no little interest. How did she learn to move so? And if someone did not teach her, how did she learn to move like this. Observing her body, he could envision her stomach muscles moving beneath her clothing. “Baby, why do you dance tonight?”

The question caused her to stop her dance. Her music player continued and the singers chanted in unison, “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir.” Ethan blinked hard and was tempted to give an answer. His finger pressed harder against his lips to prevent his mouth from opening or closing while he wanted for her response. She pondered, “Um…what reasons are there to dance?”

Her response caused him to grin and he turned off the blaring rendition of Lady Marmalade sung by a quartet of women. His grin faded as he realized that Brit mouthed the rest of the stanza which indicated that she knew the rest of the words. Momentarily sidetracked, he wondered whether she understood the meaning and his eyes rounded as she continued to sway to the song now silenced. “Well, Brit, people dance at ceremonies and for rituals. They dance to celebrate and for entertainment. Some dances even tell stories.” He watched as she processed and noted that she continued to sway. Ethan did not add that dance was sometimes used to show feelings toward another and was linked to more physical pleasures in some cultures.

She slowed down her motion. Turning, she walked toward him slowly and said with a soft lisp, “Maybe..I dance for you, Ethan.”

Ethan looked up quickly wondering whether his baby beloved was developing the ability to read his thoughts. When Brit reached the rug, she slid to her hands and knees playfully advancing toward him as if she were a stalking kitten. Finding his voice, he said, “Maybe you dance for me?”

She continued her slow crawl toward where he was sitting. Her hair was slightly dragging across the rug and she reached toward him. His hand met hers and used it to pull closer. “I dance for you, Ethan.” Speechless, he touched her hair and her cheek. “Since you are not dancing with me…I dance for you,” she whispered. Ethan’s fingers barely moved as he considered her response. He pulled her dark mahogany hair from her neck where it was pasted to the light sheen of sweat. She watched silently. He could smell her light scent and hear her heartbeat that was starting to slow.

His touch and the cool air on her neck caused Brit to close her eyes and tilt her head. Ethan pulled her closer and stroked her throat. Brit paused to press the button that turned the music on again. Etta James’ full voice pumped from the small speakers. Brit pulled off Ethan’s jacket as Etta bellowed, “Baby, take off your coat……real slow.” Ethan kicked off his shoes at Etta’s second line.

((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_xNE54tr4cU))

Vampire Lore

Brit’s head was resting on Ethan’s tummy as he woke. The ever-present candles were near and she was reading a slim book that she had obtained from the library. Her whispered voice lisped as she read. “Vampires are mythological or folkloric revenants who subsist by feeding on the blood of the living,” she read. Her feet flexed and her toes curled while she deciphered the page at a maddening slow rate.

“Is this a quiz?” he teased.

She rolled to her side smiling at him before completing the roll to give him a soft kiss. “You wished that I knew more about your kind. So I got this book. It has a lot of pictures.”

After mussing her hair, Ethan grinned and snagged the book. “Hey,” Brit exclaimed and engaged in a playful tugging game while she tried to retrieve her book.

Keeping the book, Ethan sat up and quickly thumbed through it. “It’s not even written by kindred,” he grumbled. She bounced into his lap settling back against his chest. His eyes grew wider at each new page and he said, “Brit, this is a horrible book. It…it says nothing at all of value. Do I look like a mythological being?” Paging through, he read, “Ruddy, bloated countenance beings in the dark ages.” He turned another page, “Gaunt, pale vampires emerged in the nineteenth century.” He glowered at the pages. “I have never been ruddy, bloated or gaunt!”

With a slight frown, she flopped back against him. “But you are pale,” she said matter-of-factly.

“And I am much older than nineteenth century!” He continued to look through the book. “Pulp. Cheap fiction.” Turning another page, he glowered, “Worthless.” His fingers tightened on the book in disbelief that such a think would ever be in print. “At one time, books were treasures. Not everyone had even seen a book and this…worthless.”

“No book has nothing of value. Just ask any librarian,” Brit giggled as she pulled the book free from his grasp. Settling back again, she flipped through it and she perked pointing to a page, “See? Listen!” She mouthed over words before reading them aloud, “Many rituals were used to identify a vampire. One method of finding a vampire’s grave is to lead a virgin boy through a graveyard or church grounds on a virgin stallion. The horse would balk at the grave in question. Generally, a black horse is required, though in Albania, the horse should be white.”

Ethan growled softly and snatched the book away again before staring at the words on the page. If it were anyone else but Brit, Ethan would have thought the person was trying to goad him. Recomposing, he said evenly, “Well, that is quite true, baby. The horse balks because if it is aware that if it enters anywhere with a virgin Albanian boy …well…” He coughed politely and then stated, “If the horse balks, it has nothing to do with the kindred in a grave. Besides, today’s hotels are far more comfortable than an Albanian graveyard.”

Nodding, Brit gently took the book from him again. Ethan raised an eyebrow realizing that he just handed the book over without a kiss or anything in return. Again, she looked to the book seeking something he might deem worthy. With a hint of a grin, he watched her while cuddling her to him. His relaxation stopped as he glimpsed a page. Ethan grabbed the book yet again and scanned the pages with no little shock. Emphatically, he said, “Brit. I am not an evil spirit in a dead corpse. Nor do I sleep with crossed thumbs. I’m quite fond of crosses and as far as the general beliefs during the Dark Ages, they were…well. Dark.” Snapping the book closed and placing it aside, he said, “Just ask me if you are curious, baby.”

“Okay,” she lisped as her eyes followed the book. Puffing her cheeks, Brit cuddled against him and seemed lost in thought. Where were the questions, he wondered. As the candle burned lower and no questions came, Ethan realized that Brit could only ask questions if she had somewhere to start. He reluctantly returned the book to her before cuddling her back to him again. She clutched it to herself which caused him to smile and pull her closer.

Brushing her neck with his lips, he whispered wickedly, “It is true that I need blood.” His words and touches caused her to smile shyly. Enjoying her smile, he lowered his voice, “Some blood, I have grown to crave.” Brit giggled as she squirmed slightly. His arm slide around her to support her body and he fixed his lips where her neck melted into the curve of her shoulder murmuring, “Especially when it is so sweet.” Ethan continued feeling her artery pulse beneath her flushed skin.

Her pale skin started to tingle from the vibration of his voice and the tickle-touch of his lips. Brit melted against him feeling his fingers on her neck moving her hair aside. He bit playfully causing her to gasp in surprise while the adrenaline built in her bloodstream; and then her breath caught feeling his fangs sink into her neck. Her muscles tensed as he bit harder causing her blood to flow. Brit could feel the pop when he punctured her artery and started to drink. Sweetness in both her flavor and feel. To her, the sweetness was found in the sensual pleasure of his dark embrace.

Brit’s fingers circled lazily against his cheek encouraging him to drink. Her fingers and toes cool started to cool as he drank. Her lips parted from the caress of his mouth that pulled blood from her. Though his heart rarely beat, she felt hers was beating for both of them. Using her necklace, Ethan punctured his wrist and held it to her mouth so they drank mutually. His blood strengthened her body. Her blood allowed him to subsist. Thus they started their evening. Later, he recommended that she read the book so they could discuss it. It was a starting point and therefore the book had value.

The New Tailor

“Dead?” Ethan asked incredulously. “He was a young man!”

The clerk nodded sadly, “Yes, sir. But..well, sir, he was eight-four.” The clerk looked from Brit to Ethan again wondering. The clerk's grandfather had retired except for this one client.

Ethan fell silent. Could so many years really have passed? He sighed with the added disappointment of the inconvenience. “Modern tailors have no sense of…” Ethan paused while thinking of many ways to end his sentence. Style. Quality. Design. All fit, he thought sourly. Manners, he reminded himself. “My deepest sympathies. Your grandfather was most talented and my family shall miss his services.” Ethan stood in the shop and slid his arm around Brit as if unsure what else to say or do. It was just a few years, he thought again as an uncomfortable feeling grew inside of him.

Brit whispered, “You are squeezing me too tightly.” In fact, Ethan was all but crushing her to him.

The clerk shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps my cousin might help. She is a quite talented seamstress. Allow me to offer her card.” He went to the back leaving Ethan and Brit standing near the door. Ethan caressed Brit’s hair still not saying a word as he watched her with an odd expression. The young man returned with a card. “Her name is Destany Laval and I think you may be quite pleased with her.” Taking the card, Ethan thanked the clerk and again offered his condolences before escorting Brit out of the shop.

“Most unfortunate,” said Ethan. Brit agreed expressing sadness over the old man’s passing. She didn’t seem to recall that the tailor would stick her with pins when she did not hold still. Flipping the card with his fingers, Ethan checked the time. “Let’s see where this shop is, shall we? We have a bit of time prior to returning to the city.” They walked down a street from the more fashionable district and turned down a small, dark side road. Ethan stopped at the head of the road and observed a moment before walking down to the address on the card. The inside was well-lit and both could see a woman working inside. “I hope she is unarmed,” Ethan said with a wink as he tapped on the door.

After a brief exchange of who they were and why they had come, the woman opened the door. She was curious about the man for whom her grandfather had continued his trade long after retirement. Brit admired the girl’s gregarious nature finding her pleasant smile a welcome contrast from the dour old tailor. Ethan explained styles that he preferred and asked Destany whether she had samples of her work. She showed him several photographs of her original works that had a decidedly steampunkish twist on the more Victorian designs. Looking to Brit’s outfit, Destany suggested a more modern approach to her grandfather’s style.

“If I wanted modern, I’d take Brit to the local mall,” Ethan responded flatly as he sorted through the patterns. Destany’s eyes hinted a flash of temper as she showed the remainder of her outfits. Then she casually mentioned that she did have all of her grandfather’s patterns, but she fully intended to update them to suit her own style.

Ethan mused over her words preparing to leave. Destany said, “My grandfather was working on this piece. I believe it may have been for you. I finished it, of course.”

Ethan turned to see a pristine white nightgown. It was Victorian in style with the hand-crocheted lace dripping from the wrists like icing. He had not ordered the piece, but he found it pretty. “Wrap it up for me, please.” He remained giving the patterns a second look while chatting about something for Brit more suited to summertime.

Destany wrapped it and made several mental notes. While listening, she silently observed the man and remembered all that her grandfather had told her. She knew of the mysterious city where the odd couple lived. Watching their interaction, she never had believed her grandfather before. A man who did not age and his recent companionship of a girl who seemed new by comparison. Vampire, was what her grandfather had said. She had heard of them and even thought she had met a few. But observing Ethan with Brit, she was sure the rumors were true. “Allow me to take your lady’s measurements to be sure there is no change.” As she measured Brit, she saw clearly the marks on her neck. All so very curious. The couple took the nightgown and promised to return when they returned to town.

Upon returning to the city, Ethan woke seeing Brit waiting in their resting place. Giving her the nightgown, he said, “I would very much like seeing you wear this tonight.” Brit had already showered and put it on. He turned her slowly thinking she looked as if she had just stepped from a hundred years ago. Setting her before him, he pulled her hair through the boar’s bristles as he brushed her hair until it crackled. He tore a new white linen handkerchief and arranged her hair with white bows. She giggled as he studied her like an artist would his canvas. Using the brushes from the make-up kit, he touched Brit’s face with color bringing out features to make the most of the room’s low light.

“Would you like to go out tonight?” she asked.

“I wish to stay in,” Ethan replied. He watched her silently. His fingers touching her hair, the bows, and trailing to her neck where his bite marks stayed visible. Brit asked a few more questions, but his responses were quiet and his caresses were slow. He touched the soft lace on her wrists and crumpled the fabric of the sleeve between his fingertips. The feel of the brushed cotton was soft and supple and warm from her body. Brit looked enchanting and responded to his touches by kissing him lightly.

“You rarely get anything for yourself,” she lisped.

Grinning, he continued to explore the gown and the form beneath it. “Don’t be so sure about that,” he said as he pulled her possessively closer. Brushing her hair aside, he bit into her neck drinking heavily in long, slow gulps. Brit could hear the blood flowing into his mouth. He turned his head slightly to deepen the bite and tightened his grip on her as he pulled her to him for another slow drink.

“You are squeezing me too tightly,” she whispered barely able to breath.

He drank one more pull before releasing her neck after healing the wounds, and only then reluctantly loosened his grip. No apology but soft kisses before he opened his wrist and pressed it to her lips. She drank slowly nestled in his arms. He took the time to touch her hair, bows, and stroke her body through the fabric. His mind went to the dead tailor and the granddaughter. He thought that Brit, clad in Victorian-styled Egyptian cotton, felt extra-good to hold. Kissing her after healing his wrist, he said, “I believe I shall contact that tailor again to see what else she can make.”